Find the "extreme croquet"

It was almost a year ago when I first met members of the "Extreme Croquet Club of Richmond" playing on the Westhampton Green. I was standing under a tree on a cold, rainy Sunday when I heard the now familiar crack of a croquet mallet hitting a croquet ball. I looked over at the group and watched wondering who would want to be outside on a day like that.

I struck up a conversation and they told me they were out every single Sunday morning no matter what the weather was like. I figured I would never hear from them again, but I knew there was something unique about their commitment to croquet and to each other ... especially as a freshman. I spent that year trying to maneuver between old friends at home and new friends at school, but feeling like neither were truly constant in my life. That was before I committed myself to everything imaginable ... and here I am today, just livin' life.

Fast-forward a year to this semester, the second of my sophomore year, and the second time I've had the pleasure of watching legit croquet on our campus. As I drove all over looking for the elusive group, I almost started to think that they had finally decided to peace out of each others lives for good ... that croquet just wasn't cool any more. I asked one of the maintenance men about the group and less than one minute later I had found the men in front of the Jepson Alumni Center. While I walked up to the group of five, I heard them going back and forth about the next shot:

"Wait, whose go is it?"

"Who just went?"

"Dave went."

"Nick went."

"I call Rob."

"Yeah, it's Rob's turn."

After so many years this type of conversation has been named the Alzheimer's rule: If you forget what wicket you were on or whose turn it is you ask around and the group decides which one most people can remember as the right one. They have also named the Viagra shot, which is when you have to hit your ball over a big hill and you can't quite ... get it up. Finally, a rule to which college students can certainly relate is the Prozac shot: when your ball is in a depression and you need to get it out.

In the game of "Extreme Croquet," there are two enemies: dogs and sewers. Both can ruin a good game, but sewers are the true bane of every croquet player. When I asked how often they lose their balls, Nick leaned over to me and mentioned, "Dave had to penetrate a manhole once to get a croquet ball."

I can't help but laugh at a mental image of that statement taken either way, and if you knew these guys, you would never stop laughing. At the same time, I watched as one of the guys hit a 40-foot shot through a wicket ... they brought their A Game.

Having played together for seven or eight years (no one really knows for sure) they've developed what Phil called more than "just a game, it's a microcosm of human society." As I watched the group constantly make fun of each other's shots and self-regulate, I have to say I agree.

As simple as the concept of weekly croquet is, the commitment these guys have to the group is rare. I have never experienced that kind of weekly interaction, but I'm sure it's something that develops over time ... and no one can really say how long it takes. It just happens that one day you realize you have a community that accepts and enjoys each member with a healthy level of sarcasm and joking. I'm in Generation Y, but I do recognize that I (maybe everyone) crave that kind of quality time. I look forward to the day when I look back and realize that something great has been happening all along though I never saw it begin and don't know quite how.

Wait, whose go is it?

Contact opinion editor Michael Rogers at michael.rogers@richmond.edu